Time. A precious commodity so rarely valued until it is gone. Give it back to me please a familiar cry when the opportunity went undervalued, underutilised, or simply ignored. Stops for no man in deed, once lost forever gone. Perhaps captured for posterity by photo or video but never repeated.
Capitalism, socialism, and every political ideal rely on a working fraternity. Those prepared to toil for good of country, party, or personal gain. Whatever the motive, the workforce underpins any administrative effort. The working week, defined by lawmakers, and embraced by employers. Country-to-country little changes except perhaps the days defined. In general, the knife falls under a five-two rule – Monday through Friday in Western Europe – and the count averaging around the 40-figure mark.
Mathematics complete, a weekend is my dedicated time with Lucky. Personal assistants, chefs, maids, and such forth an army reserved for the few and elite. The rich, no foul just simply economics. Ours is a more, politely put, normal. Still, two days to discover the bank does not open on Saturdays, two days to clean, to fix, to do all the irritatingly consuming rubbish we all have to do. Equation: time with Lucky is short and precious.
Good days, bad days. Lady A throws a web of confusion around her victims and their families. One day playful and engaging the next confusing and mysterious. Time, precious and evasive. Disappearing to a perfectly executed counter.
Solitude. Sometimes sort, sometimes cruelly imposed. Lucky seeks time alone for self-regulation. When the world overwhelms him, all his desires focus on one aim: alone time. Selfish me, I abhor his ‘weekend’ isolation. This is my only time, Monday morning I essentially disappear once more, and patiently wait for the working week to run its course. Intrude, and enforce my interaction upon him would be wrong, but honesty shouts loud, I curse him for it, but only in my mind. The time drives on, unrelenting, and our potential time together is lost once more. Selfish? Damn right, but lest the blame not lie at Lucky’s door but at our uninvited guest. Selfish? Maybe, but find me a parent who cares, who is not.